


Phosphorus

by Alette



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Curses, Gen, Horror, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 13:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16476764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alette/pseuds/Alette
Summary: Burn.





	Phosphorus

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Hallowe'en!

It stuck out sharply against the stark white tile, a length of cream and a tip of fire red. Kihyun frowned as he spotted it, bent down and picked it up.

A single, unlit match.

He looked around, puzzled as to where it could have come from. The windows were closed, and no one had entered the room since he’d left in the morning. How did it get on his bedroom floor?

He went back to the living room, match in hand. “Hey,” said Kihyun, holding it up, “did you leave this in my room?”

Jooheon looked up from his phone, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the match. “What? No,” he said with a shrug. “Where would I get a matchstick from anyway?”

He was right. Neither of them smoked, and their apartment had an electric stove. “Well it must’ve come from somewhere,” said Kihyun. “Did Minhyuk come over?”

“No, and he uses a lighter, by the way,” said Jooheon, going back to his phone. “Besides, why would he go in your room? To leave a match there?”

Kihyun chewed his lower lip. It didn’t make sense for someone to just leave a match lying on his bedroom floor. But then how did it get there?

Somehow Jooheon picked up on his unease because he put his phone down again. “Dude, just forget about it,” he said. “It’s one of those mysteries of life.”

“A mystery of life? Someone leaving fire hazards in my bedroom?” Kihyun tried a grin.

“Yup,” said Jooheon confidently, and went back to typing away on his phone.

Kihyun laughed. He had more important things to worry about, like the assignment he had due in two days, which he decided to get started on. On the way to his bedroom he tossed the match in the trash.

 

He found the second one in his book bag.

He’d reached in in the middle of his political science class for a new pen, and his fingers had brushed against something thin and straight. He pulled it out.

It was an unlit match.

Kihyun stared at it. How did it get in there? They didn’t even have any goddamn matches in the apartment. So how?

He turned it over in his fingers. It was an ordinary wooden matchstick, tip cherry red. He scratched at it with a nail, and a bit of it flaked off. It was just a match. Nothing more.

He dropped it onto the floor, not caring if anyone noticed. For some reason the thought of putting it back in his bag unnerved him.

Kihyun closed his book bag and focused on the class again.

 

The third one was in the pocket of his jeans.

He’d just sat down at the cafe table, when he felt something small and hard press against his thigh. He reached into his pocket and felt it. This time he didn’t need to take it out to know what it was.

“Jooheon, what is this dumb prank you’re pulling?” asked Kihyun, taking the match out and putting it on the table. “Leaving matches in all my stuff?”

“I didn’t do that,” said Jooheon, voice muffled from the bit of cake still in his mouth. He swallowed. “Hey, didn’t you find one in your room a couple of days ago?”

“Yeah, because you put it there,” said Kihyun, annoyed. This whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth.

“I didn’t, honest,” said Jooheon, and he looked genuine. “I have no idea where that came from.”

“Stop accusing him, Ki,” said Minhyuk, aiming a weak slap at Kihyun’s arm from across the table. “He said he didn’t do it.”

“Yeah, why would I?” said Jooheon. “It’s not funny.” Minhyuk laughed at that, eyes sparkling.

Kihyun put up a smile. He believed Jooheon. His roommate had always been a bad liar, and it was obvious he was telling the truth. He hadn’t left the match in Kihyun’s room, or his bag, or in his jeans. But then how did they get there?

Kihyun didn’t bring it up again, but it stayed in his mind.

 

The fourth one was in his wallet.

He’d taken his wallet out to pay for his cheap beer and ramen at the convenience store, and there it was, sitting between his supermarket points card and Changkyun’s business card.

An unlit match.

Something crept in Kihyun’s belly as he stared at the match. He’d taken his wallet out to use his card for the bus. The match hadn’t been there. Now it was.

Now it was.

“Hey, you okay?”

Kihyun looked up and saw the cashier looking at him, face full of concern. He propped up a smile. “Yeah, sorry, spaced out,” he said, taking out the money. He took out the rest of his cash too, and his cards, and all the business cards he’d collected. He took them all out and held them in his fist, until the only thing left in the wallet was the matchstick.

“Uh, are you okay?” asked the cashier, obviously freaked out.

“Fine,” said Kihyun, taking his bags. “Keep the change.”

He left his wallet on the counter.

 

When he found them the fifth time, there were two.

He’d been thirsty, and had taken out a glass from the kitchen cupboard. He filled it up with water, and just as he lifted it to his lips, he looked into it again and saw them.

Kihyun dropped the glass. It shattered on the floor, sending a thousand shards skittering along the tiles. And there, in the middle of the broken crystals, they lay.

Two unlit matches.

Jooheon came into the kitchen, drawn by the sound. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asked, just as he spotted the glass. “Shit, what happened?”

“I dropped a glass,” mumbled Kihyun, eyes still fixed on the matches. Two of them. _Two_.

“I’ll go get a broom,” said Jooheon. “Don’t move.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Kihyun, already bending down, already reaching for the matchsticks.

“Hyung, stop, I’ll do it—”

“No!” screamed Kihyun, whipping his head around to look at Jooheon. “No, you do not touch them! Stay away!”

Jooheon took a step backwards, eyes wide in shock and fear. “Hyung…”

Kihyun grabbed the matches, taking a fistful of broken glass in the process. He didn’t care. He walked through the broken glass and past Jooheon, not looking back for a second. He had to keep Jooheon away from them. He had to keep Jooheon safe.

Bloody footprints trailed behind him.

 

The next time he found them there were two again, inside his sociology notebook.

 

The next time there were three, in a neat row inside his bedside drawer.

 

Three more, on his seat in his political science class.

 

Three more again, arranged side by side in front of his bedroom door.

 

Five matches inside his new wallet.

 

Five matches in the cup he kept his toothbrush in.

 

He opened his eyes one morning, and found eight unlit matches on his pillow.

 

Every day there were more and more. In his clothes, in his room, in his belongings. Kihyun bit into a sandwich and found matchsticks under his teeth. He took ramen off the stove and stirred it, felt the chopsticks knock against the matches. He poured water into empty glasses, felt matches press against his lips as he tried to drink. Every day Kihyun found them, and every day there were more, until they were beyond count.

Kihyun could feel them destroying his life. His friends avoided him, and when they did talk to him it was in quiet, careful tones, like they were afraid of spooking him. He didn’t talk about the matches, but it was the only thing he thought about, and so he didn’t talk at all. Jooheon tried to talk to him about it, concernedly, calmly, but Kihyun always refused. He wasn’t letting them near Jooheon. He wasn't letting them near him or any of his other friends.

They were like a disease. A curse. Every waking moment Kihyun could feel the dread heavy in his bones, in his gut, seeping from his skin. It was eating at his brain, until he was jittery, nerves pulled taut, jumping at the smallest thing and lashing out at anyone who came close.

It was the matches. They were doing it. They were burning him from the inside out.

And every day he found more.

 

It was Wednesday morning when Kihyun dragged his body out of bed. He was tired, a tiredness that reached much deeper than his bones. He felt around his sheets, his pillows, his pyjamas. No matches. Kihyun could have cried with relief.

His book bag was sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor, where he’d left it the night before when he’d tried to pack it but found himself too tired. Kihyun walked over, got down on his knees, and pulled the zipper open.

Matches poured out.

They spilled out of the bag, knocking against Kihyun’s knees, tumbling into his lap and cascading over the floor. Hundreds of them. Thousands. They kept pouring out, a stream of creamy wooden brown and red, until they finally stopped, and Kihyun found himself on his knees in a pool of unlit matches.

He buried his hands in them, feeling the wood against his fingers. Matches. All of them. Unlit.

Inside, his strings snapped one by one.

Kihyun jumped up, both fists full of the matchsticks. He couldn’t live like this anymore, live with _these_. He needed to be free. He had to be free. But how? _How_? How could he finally escape this hell?

The answer felt torturously close. Kihyun whirled around, trying to find it. Where was it? What did he have to do to escape?

He looked down, and saw that he was only holding one match. All the others had slipped out of his hands and he hadn’t even realized.

Kihyun looked at the one match, and suddenly knew what he had to do.

He staggered over to his bedside table, and pulled open the drawer. He rifled through it with one hand, until he finally found what he was looking for. In a corner of the drawer, left over from his long-abandoned project, was a piece of sandpaper.

Kihyun walked back to the center of the room, match in one hand, sandpaper in the other. He sat down once more in the pool of unlit matches, and brought both hands up to eye level.

This was his freedom. This was his escape.

Kihyun struck the match head against the sandpaper, and watched it burst into flame.

 

“Hyung? Are you up? You’re gonna be late.”

Jooheon opened the door slow, poking his head into Kihyun’s bedroom and looking around warily.

The room was empty. Jooheon walked in, confused. The bed was unmade, the drawer in the bedside table open. Kihyun's book bag was sitting in the middle of the floor, zipper open, a few notebooks inside and not much more.

And no Kihyun.

Jooheon looked around, wondering where Kihyun had gone, when he suddenly spotted something.

It stuck out sharply against the stark white tile, a length of cream and a streak of charcoal black.

A single match, head black and burned.

**Author's Note:**

> Phosphorus is the element commonly used in the heads of matchsticks.
> 
> A horror-type idea I had a while ago, that I finally decided to write. Banged this out in one night after my nuclear physics final, which is why it's so unpolished and a bit late. But hey, it's still Hallowe'en somewhere, right?
> 
> As always, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/alette_star), [tumblr](http://alette-stars.tumblr.com/), and [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/alette_star). Thank you for reading, and for any kudos/comments you decide to drop ♡


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